


Anchor

by starthief



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach, Belly Kink, Death of a Relative, Depression, Feeding Kink, Lobster, M/M, Size Kink, Volleyball, VolleyballCaptain!Steve, chubby!bucky, feeder, lifeguard!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starthief/pseuds/starthief
Summary: After Sarah's death, Steve becomes a professional volleyball captain with his team, the Americans. A few weeks before the second-to-last game of the season, he meets a guy on the beach.





	1. Let Me Take Care of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wreckingthefinite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckingthefinite/gifts).



> Sorry this fic took so long! I came up with the idea when I went to the beach, then I forgot about it for a little while... but anyway. Here's a shameless little beach fic for the end of summer.   
> (Feel free to let me know about any mistakes I made! Help a fellow grammar nazi out)

On the second day of Steve’s vacation, he woke up to the fuchsia-orange sunrise and smelled the salt on the air as he breathed in the scents of the morning from his third-story balcony window.

“Today is going to be a great day,” he said to himself. It was dumb; it was a thing he’d started after she… after she died. She’d say it every morning. He could still hear her voice in his head. _”Wake up, Stevie… today is going to be a great day.”_ And it was. Up until the day she couldn’t say it anymore.

Great days are like that. You never know which ones are going to be good, and which ones are going to be great.

As Steve changed into his jogging clothes for an early morning warmup on the beach, he already knew (or thought he knew) what sort today would be. Grey. Hollow. Same as every day the last year, a montage of jumbled memories all out of order and filled with the same sense of disorientation.

At the jetty, he met up with Sam with a nod and they ran together. Sam talked about the victory party last night, the one Steve didn’t go to. It wasn’t like he wasn’t excited about winning the game, although the rest of the team probably thought that he didn’t enjoy himself anymore. It wasn’t that. His days just felt empty. His memory of the last year was all packed together in a blur of hitting the volleyball endlessly. Although it cathartic to a point… _she’s gone… she’s gone… Sarah’s gone…_ there was a certain strategic finesse that his time lacked.

Sam offered to buy him coffee, but he turned him down, kind of wanting to be alone, kind of not wanting to be left alone. He waved his “see you later” to Sam and walked toward the breaking waves, spotting a beached moon jellyfish. He found a large shell and scooped it up, helping it back into the ocean. A small, deprecatory smile played across his lips. He dug his bare toes into the sand, trying to latch on to the sensations around him, somehow still feeling like he was drifting out to sea.

At around 7 a.m, the first-shift lifeguards arrived at their post. Steve walked over to the chair to say hi to Sharon, but person peering out from under the sun-umbrella in response to his cheerful “Good morning, Sharon!” was not Sharon.

“Umm, excuse me?” said the brunet and _definitely_ male lifeguard sitting above him. A little stunned, Steve took in the guy before him. He was tall, broad shouldered, with a bit of a scruffy beard, blue-grey eyes, muscular, and just a bit round. The effect was perhaps exaggerated by his sitting position, or by the standard lifeguard red swim trunks he wore that were just a tad too tight, making his slight love handles sit firmly over the sides.

Steve swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Uh… I’m sorry. Is Sharon okay?” he asked nervously. He didn’t mean to upset the… surprisingly hot… new lifeguard.

The guy laughed, easing Steve’s tensions. “She’s fine. It’s her vacation, I think. I’m here for the rest of the year. James Buchanan Barnes, but you can call me Bucky,” he offered, holding out a hand toward Steve.

“Steven Grant Rogers, but you can call me Steve,” he replied, shaking it. The guy had a nice grip.

“So, what do you do?” Bucky asked.

“I’m the captain of a volleyball team. We’re resting here and practising before our next big game.”

Bucky lifted an eyebrow and smiled. “Oh yeah? I follow volleyball. Which team are you up against?”

“The Iron Men,” Steve responded. They were supposed to be unbeatable, but so were the Americans. If Steve’s team could win, they’d go to the championships.

Before he could go on, Bucky stopped him with a hand. “Would you excuse me?” he said gently before blowing his whistle at a guy in a motorboat coming too close to the swimming area. “I gotta take care of this asshole.” He jumped down from the chair, running out into the pacific waves.

Steve allowed himself to admire the rhythm of Bucky’s sprint, then headed back to the hotel. He was too messed up to get involved with anyone now.

 

\--

“Steeeve…” called a voice from the other side of sleep. For a moment, Steve thought it was his mom. Then, in another crashing moment, he realised it wasn’t.

“Nghh…” he grunted, pulling the pillow over his head.

“It’s Nat… the team wanted to know if you wanted to get together for lunch.”

Steve didn’t respond, burying his face deeper into the bed.

“Hey, are you okay?” Natasha sat on his back. “Who do I need to beat up now?”

“No one. I’m fine.”

“Listen, I get it if you don’t want to come out, but I think it’d do you good. You can’t hide away from your life.”

Steve reluctantly got up. His nap after his encounter with Bucky had made him sluggish, but he changed into more presentable clothes and showered while he listened to Nat chatter on the bed. Sometimes, just the effort she put into caring about him and her constant energy made him feel better.

He went down to the hotel restaurant with Natasha. It was a tacky, tourist-y place, with fake flower leis and shells everywhere, but they had nice drinks. Nat ordered herself something with a lot of vodka, and when the bartender gave it to her, he handed Steve something fruit-and-sunset-y. Before Steve could protest about not having ordered it, the bartender jerked his thumb in the vague direction of a guy who sat in the corner. “Compliments of him.”

Nat went off to meet up with Sam, Scott, Clint, and Wanda while Steve sat on the barstool and scowled into his drink. He hated fruity drinks.

“When I got back to my post, you’d vanished,” said a soft voice, pulling him from a bad daydream.

Steve gave a half-hearted smile and toasted his drink. “Sorry. I figured you were busy.”

“Didn’t give me much of a chance to get to know you,” Bucky said easily. Cheeky, Steve thought, but he was right.

Steve smiled, pulling the pineapple off of the little plastic sword toothpick stuck in the drink. He hated pineapples. “Sorry,” he responded again. Before he could think up more to go on, Bucky was standing up.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you around, I guess…” he muttered. Normally Steve would have let him go, save the pain of Bucky finding out about all his emotional baggage later, but something about this guy, this _day_ made him want to try a little harder.

“No, wait!” he called, standing up a little too soon, grabbing Bucky’s bicep maybe a bit too hard. At Bucky’s surprised expression, he backed down a little, looking at the ground. “I’m sorry…” he muttered for the third time. “It’s just that… well, I know I’m a bit reserved, and there’s a few things I’m trying to work past… it’s just hard. And I want to try, and have fun, I really do, but it seems so hard to have fun when there’s so much emptiness…” he trailed off, suddenly realising how close to dumping on a complete stranger he was. And he wouldn’t scare him off. He wouldn’t end another promising beginning too soon, not this time. “Sorry,” he muttered again, pathetically, turning back to his seat.

“Hey,” Bucky said gently, grabbing Steve’s wrist as he pulled it away from Bucky’s arm. “Stop saying sorry, okay? You have nothing to be sorry about.” Steve still looked at the ground. Bucky took his chin in his hands, lifted it up so they were at perfect eye level. “Okay?”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

Bucky sighed, and broke out another fabulous grin. “Great. So. If you really mean what you said earlier about having fun, I can help with that.”

Steve nodded. “I do, I just don’t want to be a downer on your day.”

Bucky leaned in, and whispered in Steve’s ear, like he was about to share an epic secret. “Ever been parasailing?”

 

\--

Steve could taste the mint-chocolate-chip ice cream taste still lingering in Bucky’s mouth. They practically fell through the door of Steve’s room as the lock finally took the card. It’d taken him a second or two to get the plastic thing to go in the slot, especially with Bucky’s arms around his neck and hands tangled in his hair. He kicked the door shut behind him and guided Bucky to the bed, falling over him and catching his weight on his forearms. They paused their kissing for a moment to study each other’s faces, both panting heavily.

“Are you sure you want to—“ Bucky started, but that was as far as he got before Steve silenced him with his tongue. Bracing his weight on his right arm, his left hand snaked down to Bucky’s shirt and undid the buttons, pulling him up to help him out of it. The shirt was dumped on the floor, and Bucky’s pants and Steve’s shirt and shorts joined it a moment later.

For a moment, Steve was unsure exactly where they should go from there (it wasn’t like they’d exactly spoken about it, going straight from their impromptu date to getting a little tipsy to sloppy making out on the boardwalk, and a giddy invitation to take it upstairs as Steve had strategically steered the direction of their journey and conversation to his hotel), but it wasn’t a problem as Bucky flipped Steve over beneath him and began palming at the blond’s boxers (American flag boxers, of course). Steve shucked them off, his raging erection making itself known and greedy. Bucky just chuckled and leaned down for another dirty kiss, wrapping his strong hand around Steve’s member. After a few strokes, Bucky’s pretty mouth pulled away from Steve’s and he gave him a wolfish smile before taking Steve’s cock into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the head and Steve moaned, balling up the sheets in the fist of his left hand while twisting his right in Bucky’s hair. Bucky flicked his tongue across Steve slit, and looking down, Steve met Bucky’s blue-grey eyes looking up at him. He was fucking into his own hand, the one that wasn’t massaging Steve’s balls, and came first. Steve followed soon after, his orgasm ephemeral but the best he’d had in a long time (a really long time, thanks depression), whiting out his vision and making him scream Bucky’s name.

Bucky flung himself onto the bed next to Steve, and panted for a few minutes, catching his breath. Steve recovered first, getting up and fetching a washcloth from the closet. When he returned, Bucky was already getting his pants on over his boxers, and Steve tossed the brunet his shirt from the floor.

“Don’t you want to—“ Steve started, intending to offer that Bucky could stay the night, but trailing off, not wanting to finish in case Bucky didn’t. But it wasn’t like that, right? Or was it? He’d thought it’d be more than a _wham bam thank you sir_ , seeing as they’d started with the date and all, but maybe not. To be honest, what he really wanted was to clean up and then go to sleep with Bucky’s thick arm wrapped around him, but it would be unfair to ask if the brunet wanted to leave.

“No, sorry, I got a…” he made a “thing” gesture in the air and Steve nodded, not wanting to make it a big deal. Once Bucky was properly dressed again, he leaned forward, ostensibly for a kiss. He hesitated a moment too late, a moment too long, and it suddenly turned awkward. Bucky’s face screwed up into a grimace, and he muttered a “See ya” as he picked up his phone from the bedside table and walked toward the door.

“Wait, um…” Steve said, and Bucky paused, turning back. “…Can I have your number?” he asked quietly, not knowing if it was okay.

Bucky’s face brightened in realisation, and Steve was relieved. “Right! Sure.” Steve handed over his own phone, and the brunet typed in the number and gave it back, flashing one last smile before he left the room, the hotel door shutting behind him with a soft and somewhat final click.

 

\--

“I mean, I don’t know if I should text him. It was so awkward when he left, but it was so great when we fucked, and he was so sweet and funny on the boardwalk, and…” Steve sighed, taking a breath. He usually felt bad ranting, but Nat never minded, and she was always great with relationship advice.

She sucked the last of her smoothie through her straw, some kale shit, and set the cup down. “Well, you have to decide what kind of relationship you want it to be. It depends on how attached to him you are. If you liked being with him on the boardwalk most, I’d say text him again, see if he wants to go to some lame carnival, do cutesy stuff. If you liked the sex most, I’d say decide on how much you liked having sex with _him_.”

Steve nodded, looking off at the waves out the window of the café. He didn’t know what he’d liked best. He’d had a great time, sure, but the whole time he’d sort of felt… empty. He hadn’t wanted to be anywhere else while spending time with him, which is more than Steve could say for most other dates, but still. It didn’t give him that racing spark of life, the desire of being fastened to the moment that he was supposed to feel. It was unfair to make Bucky responsible for getting Steve out of his recent melancholic state, he knew, but if they were going to take advantage of each other mutually—and that’s what relationships were, weren’t they?—then he might as well get his emotions hooked up in it too.

“Steve,” Nat called, pulling him out of his deep contemplation, mirroring the deep, disturbed sea he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from. He grunted in response, gaze finally meeting Natasha’s as she held his hands on the table. “You need to talk to someone.”

He gestured at her, taking another sip of his coffee, raging caffeine addiction not even keeping him awake these days. “I am talking to someone.”

She shook her head, auburn curls falling over her shoulders. “No, Steve. I mean a professional. And not about Bucky, although that too. I mean… about your mom.” With anyone else, they would have crossed a boundary, but Steve knew she meant well, and she probably cared about his own mental health better than he did.

 

\--

Steve stared at the little sign that read Dr. Nick Fury, trying to have a stare-down with the letters. He didn’t want to be there, although it was a good idea. He had the time, when he wasn’t playing volleyball, and he had the money. He knew someone should keep track of his mental health, and he didn’t care enough to. Other than that, he didn’t want to be judged by some professional who wanted to put a clinical label on his heart, or mark off his passions with a tiny little note that somehow invalidated his thoughts.  

“Sir?” the secretary called again from her desk, and Steve snapped his eyes up. She looked moderately annoyed, but her tone was more patient than her expression implied. “You can go in now.”

Steve took in a deep breath and opened the door before him. The office was small and warm, painted in earth tones. A rich curtain was drawn across the only window, and hundreds of thick books coloured the bookshelves all around the room. Observing the nicely scented plant, Steve made himself ready for introductions, but realised with a small sense of confusion that the chair behind the desk was vacant.

Instead, Dr. Fury was sitting in another chair in the corner, a softer one, almost completely hidden in shadows. The one dull lamp in the room glinted off his eyes as he stood and offered a hand out to Steve. Steve took it, and the doctor’s shake was firm, reassuring. Steve liked the way he spoke, slowly and with an even tone, maintaining eye contact the whole time. It made Steve feel very grounded in the conversation, like he couldn’t lose himself off into space. They became acquainted and Dr. Fury asked him a few questions. Steve answered as honestly as he could. It was a little uncomfortable, to be so introspective. The world had so often told him not to pay too much attention to himself, to just _be_. Which allowed a lot of him to slip through the cracks, he thought. He had no idea of the person he wanted to be.  

When Sarah… a painful topic, a painful anything, _when Sarah_ , but it was one he was forced to discuss now, dig up all those feelings he’d buried under “I’m fine”… died and couldn’t care for him anymore, he never knew how to take care of himself. A wave of issues that he’d been denying, accompanied by issues that he hadn’t even been aware of, poured out of him. Normally he would have been worried about dumping on someone like that. But this wasn’t someone. It was a therapist. And that’s what you were supposed to do, wasn’t it?

Later, he walks out of the session feeling lighter, somehow. A lot of new phrases bounce around his head, pieces of actually useful advice that Fury had had, a lot for him to contemplate. He just might go back next week, he thought.

 

\--

His left arm was up in the air, fisted like he was ready to lead a revolution. He brought it down behind him, windmilling it with just enough of a mix of precision and power to knock the ball out of his right hand when it kissed his left forearm.

The ball sailed up in the air, beyond the net, arcing perfectly. Wanda yelled “Got it!” and tripped back a few steps before setting it, passing it in front of her to Clint, who bumped it back over the net to Nat.

The monotonous rhythm was something tangible he could sink his head into, really clear out his mind and just focus on the ball. It was meditative in a way only he could understand, but it helped. Maybe it only helped clear his head, didn’t really solve any problems, just pushed them farther back for a different time, but his second session with Dr. Fury yesterday made him feel like just perhaps he didn’t have to take that on alone.

After a few more rounds of volleying, not really keeping score, he called time to catch his breath. Natasha groaned her agreement and immediately went to her duffle bag, taking out a bottle of water and tossing it to Steve. He nodded in thanks and drank the entire thing in one go, the tepid liquid managing to bring him out of his detached state a little.

Sam punched him on the shoulder lightly, gesturing with his chin over to the outcropping of rocks along the sand beyond their court. “Hey man. Isn’t that guy the one you went out with a few weeks ago?”

Steve glanced over, and shit, yeah, it was Bucky. He wasn’t on lifeguard duty; this wasn’t even the same part of the beach they’d met at before. He was just sitting on top of one of the smoother boulders in a sweet pair of black trunks that hugged his waist nicely, not even attempting to hide the fact that he’d been observing Steve’s game. The blond nodded and handed the empty water bottle back to Nat, making his way over.

“You okay?” Nat asked sincerely, stopping him from going past her with a hand.

“Yeah,” he said softly, and she dropped her hand. He picked up his sandals from where he’d left them at the corner of the court, and held them in his hand, walking through the hot sand until he reached Bucky at his rock. He sat next to him, thinking of the next thing to say, when Bucky spoke first.

“He initiates the next meeting after eleven days,” Bucky narrated sarcastically, not moving his gaze to look at Steve.

“Listen, I…”

Bucky cut him off, blue-grey eyes finally looking into Steve’s, almost making him catch his breath. “No. I get it. It’s fine. You don’t have to text. But then why did you fucking ask for my number?”

Steve got defensive. “Hey, if you’re so mad about it, then why the hell did you come here to watch me, anyway?”

Bucky’s face softened a little, and he sighed, looking back over at the waves. “You never gave me your number,” he said gently.

Steve said nothing for a moment, letting that idea and the weight behind it run around in his mind. “Look,” he said finally. “I was a real fucking asshole, and I’m sorry.” Bucky made a small noise of agreement. “Maybe I can make it up to you?” he asked, the last part maybe too desperate, too hopeful.

Bucky sighed. “Okay.”

Steve nearly laughed in relief. “Really? Okay, yeah, great. Um. Do you… do… um,” he stuttered. To be honest, he hadn’t really thought that Bucky would give him a second chance.

Bucky grinned, effectively shutting him up. “How about my place this time?”

“Uh, yeah, sure… that… that’d be great.” Bucky stood up, offering his hand to Steve like a gentleman, even though Steve really didn’t need any help standing up at all. “What, now?”

“Yeah, now.” Bucky laughed. “Or did you want to wait eleven more days?”

Steve blushed, remembering why he’d liked Bucky so much, and took his hand.

 

\--

Bucky, as it turned out, owned a very clean, very modern architectural beach house on the private end of a little peninsula that jutted out perhaps two miles away from Steve’s hotel. Stepping out of Bucky’s car (a BMW Gran Coupe, for crying out loud) and into a circular garage with large circular window facing the ocean, he remembered something Bucky’d said on the boardwalk about lifeguarding wasn’t his only job, but snippets of small talk were lost in and out of the intoxicated state he’d spent the night in. He whistled, and Bucky smirked as he unlocked the door from the garage into his living room. The colour scheme inside was the same as out; silvery metallic textures paired with crisp white accents, a few art deco paintings spicing up the walls.

Bucky let Steve stand in the living room for a little bit, basking in it all, while he stepped over to the bar of the adjoining kitchen. “What’ll your poison be?” he asked, flicking on some stereo system that played a soft, rhythmic jazz throughout the room. Steve shrugged, feeling like he was in a movie. He took the glass Bucky offered him, sniffing it. “Cognac,” Bucky explained, and the blond nearly laughed before he realised that he was serious. Bucky actually had _cognac_ in his _house._

“So… _what_ exactly do you do?” Steve asked, a little bemused, trying not to pose the question exactly how it was coming off.

Bucky smirked a little, looking down and taking a sip of his own drink. “I’m a chef, actually. At a local seafood restaurant, _the Pearl Paradise._ ”

Steve nodded. “I know it. The team’s going to have our victory dinner there, if we win.” It was a very expensive, very prestigious place with very good food that, even with their salaries, they wouldn’t really be able to afford until _after_ they’d won. He was suddenly reminded of the fact that they were going up against the Iron Men tomorrow. He’d been aware of it, in a sort of vague way, but the days had crept up on him. He’d been so absorbed in practise for the game that he’d forgotten about the game.

“Why wait until tomorrow?” Bucky asked, and for a moment Steve wondered how he knew, then realised he’d said that he followed volleyball. “I could cook for you now, if you want.”

Steve checked the minimalistic clock on the wall above the door where the arrows pointed to the two squiggles that stood in for “6 PM”. Thanks to volleyball all afternoon and his own lack of foresight that morning, he’d forgotten lunch. “Yeah, I could eat,” he responded.

“Great!” Bucky was clearly pleased to cook for Steve, and he didn’t mind either. “Lobster okay?”

“Lobster’s great.”

 

\--

About a half hour later, Bucky laid out two plates on the impossibly physics-defying table, and Steve could see why Bucky was carrying around an extra thirty. Oh, he was muscular, certainly, probably as strong as Steve himself, but that half of Bucky’s life belonged to the beach side of him. As for the other side… wasn’t there a saying about not trusting a skinny cook?

Not that Steve was complaining. Quite the opposite. He found his eyes drawn to the way Bucky’s plump little paunch rounded over the tops of his swim trunks (both he and Steve were still in just their bathing suits, and Steve figured that normal dress attire was excluded when you’d already gotten as intimate as you could on the first date) when he sat down on the high-backed chair, cracking his lobster in half and digging in like he hadn’t eaten all day.

Bucky grunted in pleasure at the taste, then looked over at Steve when he realised he wasn’t eating. “Ah… how is it?” he asked, and Steve snapped into action, cracking open his own lobster and taking a forkful into his mouth.

“Wow, Buck…” he moaned around the mouthful of heaven dancing on his tongue. “This is honestly the best lobster I’ve ever had.”

Bucky beamed with pride and continued eating his own. The lobsters were huge, about two and a half pounders, and Steve was a little intimidated by the sheer size of it on his plate, but the taste more than persuaded him to take another bite. He’d had lobster before, in cheap seafood restaurants, but they’d always been too seasoned to the point where the butter overtook the taste. Bucky’s lobster was perfectly balanced, tasting fresh and zesty and even a little citrus-like.

About halfway into his, Bucky was done, finished carving the last bit of meat out of the shell and setting down his fork with a satisfied sigh. He sat back a little in his chair, full belly pushing out, and took a contemplative sip of his cognac.

Steve’s mouth went dry, and he looked down at his own plate, realising he was _done_. Not that he was full, not necessarily… but in a strange way, he’d had enough, and he wanted to see if Bucky wanted a little more perhaps. He swallowed, attempting to speak without sounding like a creep. “Uh… Buck… I think I’m done here, I’m getting’ kind of full. Do you maybe want…?” he trailed off, edging his plate a centimetre or two forward on the table.

Bucky leaned forward and Steve breathed in sharply, but fortunately the brunet didn’t notice. “Sure,” he said casually, picking up Steve’s hammered glass plate and forking the partially-attacked lobster onto his own.

Bucky must have caught Steve staring at him somewhere toward the end of the lobster, because when he finally took a break from ingesting the crustacean, his voice had a playful tone to it. “You know,” he said slowly, taking a strategic sip of his drink. “Lobster’s an aphrodisiac.”

It took a moment or two for Steve to register that he’d spoken, and he finally tore his eyes away from the brunet’s lap to see Bucky’s grey-blue eyes looking into his own. Steve started, realising how rude he must seem, and a deep blush settled across his cheeks as he stuttered out an apology.

Before he could embarrass himself further, Bucky chuckled, standing up and pushing his seat back. “It’s okay, Steve,” he said softly, taking the blond’s hands. “You can touch.”

For a moment, Steve let himself. He put his hands on Bucky’s full stomach, a hand creeping to the soft love handle on one side. Then he pulled his hands away, looking down. “I’m so sorry, Buck… I just… I just fucking can’t. I can’t wrap my head around this. I can’t get out of whatever this is. I can’t take care of you. Hell, I’m barely taking care of myself. I’m too fucked up to be with you, and I’m sorry I lead you on, real sorry, but you were just so nice, and…” he sighed, pausing. “The truth is, I almost thought that maybe if I went on living, or just found something… well, _someone_ good enough, that they’d cure me. Which is terrible, but it’s honestly what I believed. But I’m not going to get better all at once. It’d be unfair to put that expectation on you, to ask you to be anything more than what we were, and I even fucked that up. I don’t want you to have to… to make sense of everything that’s chaotic inside of me,” he finished, with a note of defeat.

“Hey,” Bucky said, reaching his arms out and holding both Steve’s strong hands. “I’m not asking you to give a fuck, or to act like something you don’t feel. You go on and be sad, and you don’t worry about when anyone else says you need to feel better again. You take as long as you need. What you’re feeling is important, and you shouldn’t have to push that away. Go on and be who you are, but you don’t have to be that alone. I want to be with you. And when I make you happy, when you smile, in those good, pleasant times, they’ll be more special. And when you’re sad, and you can’t get out of bed in the mornings, I’ll hold your hand and pet your hair for you. It’s okay. I never asked you to take care of me. Let _me_ take care of _you,_ Stevie.”

A few tears had gathered at the corners of Steve’s eyes, and he smiled a little. Not really a true, bright smile, but not a forced one either. “Really?” he asked, voice choking a little.

“God, yes,” Bucky breathed out on a breath of a laugh, pulling Steve in for a warm hug, Bucky’s soft little belly pressing up against Steve. “Let me take care of you.”


	2. A Nation Divided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big game.

Steve’s phone rang right in the middle of him sweeping his tongue around Bucky’s tight asshole. He groaned and picked up the device with his left hand, throwing it into the lower division of Bucky’s split-level bedroom.

The second time it rang, moments later, it was nearly drowned out by the sound of Bucky’s howling as Steve lined up his cock and pushed in past Bucky’s ring of muscle.

The third time, Steve was coming, and Bucky was panting and leaning forward onto the grey duvet on his bed. Steve pulled out and rolled the condom off, glad that in their post-lobster frenzy he’d remembered to put a condom on (he didn’t want to make a mess on Bucky’s bed; it looked more expensive than Steve’s motorcycle). “Aren’t you… going to… get that?” Bucky huffed out, still blissed out in the lingering spasms of his own orgasm.

Steve groaned and pulled his underwear back on, picking up the phone. _3 missed calls from Wanda Maximoff_. He sighed and called her back. “What’s up, Wanda?”

“Steve?” she asked in a small, choked voice, and instantly he knew something was very wrong. Wanda hardly ever showed how she was feeling, and she never, ever sounded small or afraid. Being the youngest and smallest of the group, she always compensated and let everyone know that she didn’t need to be babied. His face grew serious, and he sat down on the ground, listening to her erratic breathing.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” he said in his most gentle voice, not liking the way she was hyperventilating. “It’s okay. Just breathe. Breathe, and then tell me what’s up. No pressure.” He spoke for a moment or two more before she could collect herself, just walking her through breathing, speaking soft whatevers into the phone to calm her down. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see Bucky get off the bed, looking concerned.

“Pietro’s dead,” she gasped out.

Steve’s heart instantly sank, and he remembered the exact moment the nurse came out of the waiting room and shook her grim head at him, how he couldn’t breathe, how everything slipped away. He knew exactly how Wanda felt.

“I’m going home… for his funeral… and just to help, and stuff…” she trailed off. Steve could picture her usually bright hazel eyes clouded over with grief.

“Of course,” he soothed, and she went on.

“I’m really sorry about the game tomorrow, I just…”

“No, no, this is more important. You go home, Wanda, we’ll take care of it.”

“’Kay…” she muttered before terminating the call.

Steve sighed and put his phone down. He was close with Natasha, not really all _that_ close, but so many fresh pains of the exact moment he knew he was an orphan came crashing back that he needed a minute. He realised that Bucky was sitting next to him, holding his hand and calling his name. He shook his head, trying to get the hurricanes in his head to calm. “Something wrong?” the brunet asked.

“Yeah…” Steve said, hearing his voice as if it was coming from far away. “Wanda—one of my teammates—has a brother, back home in Europe, and he just passed. There’ve been complications with his health, ever since he was born, and I guess…”

“Oh, man…” Bucky said softly as understanding peppered his pretty face. “I’m really sorry, Steve.” He reached his arms over and hugged Steve, just held him, and Steve shifted so that they were hugging in a more comfortable position. That felt really nice, just having someone care, even if a brother of a teammate wasn’t that apparent in Steve’s life.

Steve’s face was grim. “That means… that means we can’t play tomorrow.”

“But Steve, you’ve been training all season for this game. You can beat the Iron Men.” Bucky had a way of making everything Steve said feel just as important as it sounded in his own head, and that was something monumental he’d never be able to put in words.

“I know. But we can’t play with five people. With Wanda going back to Europe… we just won’t be able to go tomorrow.”

Bucky shook his head. “You do have one other choice.”

Steve blinked at him for a minute, then he understood. “I don’t even think that’s allowed, Buck. But thanks for offering.”

 

\--

It was, as it happened, allowed. Steve double checked with the rule books, just to be sure, and lo and behold, about seven feet into the back section, there was a handy little note that read: _in the event that one of the members of the original team cannot play at a final or semi-final game, a stand-in of the team may be appointed to take their place if the stand in has had at least six months of practise with the team._

Steve, being Captain, made the executive call that they would still play. When he called up the rest of the team, at first they agreed that it would be risky, but Nat had his back by saying that they’d come too far to not be able to play. Clint, the Photoshop expert, agreed to put together “evidence” of Bucky having trained with them before, just in case anyone asked. They decided that they should play a practise game that night together anyway, just to make sure that Bucky could actually play well. And if he couldn’t, that was alright. The rest of them were talented enough to make up for it and still probably win.

Steve needn’t have worried. Bucky was amazing. Wanda was one of the most useful members of the team, because she had a freaky talent for always being able to tell to whom the ball would land, so they placed her in the middle back. At first they started Bucky off front left, but after discovering that he could bump as well as set, they tried him in different positions. Serving, passing, spiking, diving to hit the ball, Bucky was fabulous at everything and never missed a hit.

Steve was feeling quite confident (and a bit proud of his… boyfriend? Could he call him that?), and after practise, he invited him over for a pre-game drink.

Steve waved goodbye to Natasha and Clint, who were leaving together again, despite the fact that they lived in different directions, and found Bucky packing up his things (which involved him peeling off a sweaty t-shirt and revealing his soft, tan torso that Steve couldn’t wait to paint stripes up and down with his tongue later). “Hey, man, thanks,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder in a “bro” kind of way, because he didn’t know if it was okay to sweep him up into his arms (or be swept up?) in public yet.

“No problem! It was my pleasure,” Bucky responded with a smile that sort of made Steve feel like “thanks” had been an understatement.

“No… I mean it. Thanks for stepping in for Wanda, thanks for being so good at it, thanks for caring…” Steve lost his train of thought, suddenly absorbed in how fucking difficult he was in relationships, and if he really wasn’t worth all the pain Bucky would go through.

Bucky met his eyes in the most sincere way, and held Steve’s gaze. “And I meant when I said it was my pleasure.”

Steve gave him a weak smile because it was all he could manage at the moment. “Do you… um…” _want to go to my place?_ Was left unfinished.

“Yes.” Bucky nodded emphatically.  

 _Fuck it._ Steve grinned and reached down and held Bucky’s hand, feeling instant relief once the brunet’s fingers curled around his own. He lead the other over to his motorcycle, and instructed him to wait a moment while he got it started up. Bucky gave a low whistle and Steve laughed. “Yeah. She’s my baby. Harley Davidson Street 750.”

Once the engine came to life, he nodded, and Bucky got on behind him, petting the sleek leather. “She’s beautiful.”

“Hold on,” Steve said, gunning the throttle. He felt Bucky’s strong arms wrap around his muscled waist and Bucky’s own soft gut press against his back, and he caught his breath as he did a small wheelie, showing off a bit.

A moment or two later they reached Steve’s hotel—it was only a few blocks away from where they practised sand volleyball, but he liked to take the Harley out anyway, especially on the breezy and sunny days of early March in San Francisco.

He parked it in the garage for the guests of the hotel, and swung out the kickstand, his hand immediately migrating its way back into Bucky’s. He shot him another smile, almost surprised of how easily they came to his face when he was around the brunet, and pulled him toward the elevator, pressing the button for the third floor and then turning his attention to the more pressing matters at hand, like pressing his lips up against the brunet’s, eliciting a startled squeak from the other.

“Mm… oh, fuck… Steve…” Bucky moaned as Steve kissed his neck and palmed at his erection through his swim trunks. “Do you know what day it is?”

Steve sucked on his lower lip and swept his thumb across one of Bucky’s nipples. “Hm… March 10th?”

“’S my birthday,” Bucky gasped out with a devilish smile, and Steve pulled away a moment.

“Happy birthday, baby.” Steve arched his back and pressed his bare torso forward against Bucky’s.

“…Yep… the big three-oh…” Bucky continued.

Steve only paused a minute before he continued to kiss him and gyrate against the brunet’s erection pressing against his thigh. He’d thought that perhaps Bucky was older than him by one or two years, but he could understand how scary turning three decades old could be, even though Steve certainly thought that he had nothing to be insecure about. The elevator button dinged and the doors slid open, but mercifully the hallway was empty.

“Thirty years old…” the brunet repeated, managing to look only a little strangled.

Steve smirked and gave him a filthy kiss before pushing his card into the slot. “Yeah… but you look incredible. Like wine and cheese, better with age. Speaking of, want some?” the hotel room clicked and swung open, and they stepped inside.

Bucky smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and it nearly broke Steve’s heart, because he knew exactly how that self-deprecating smile felt. “No thanks, Stevie. And I appreciate the sentiment, but my age is… ah, catching up on me. Not as slim as I once was,” he added, with a glance down at his considerable paunch. It was the first time he’d really directed attention toward it, and after that morning when he’d acknowledged Steve’s strange obsession with it, Steve had thought that the brunet was comfortable with his (spectacular) body.

Before he could reassure Bucky that he did indeed find him extraordinarily attractive, with or without the extra pounds (preferably with, if he was being honest), Bucky went on. “Man, I wish you could’ve met me when I was younger. I looked… well… more like you.” He gestured at Steve’s own tiny waist, with washboard abs and bulging pelvic muscles (plus a bulging member pressing against his board shorts). “I wish I didn’t—“

“Hey, baby, stop right there.” Steve silenced Bucky with a kiss, and with his right hand fisted in Bucky’s long hair, his left snaked down to his stomach and squeezed at the pudgiest part below his navel. “You’re perfect. I love you. Don’t you ever feel like you have to change. I love you like this. If you want to lose the weight, of course I’ll help and encourage you, but I don’t want you to feel like you need to.”

Suddenly Bucky stopped responding to his kisses. Steve backed away a little bit, and caught the shell-shocked look on his face. “What?”

“You…” Bucky swallowed, still looking down. Then he lifted his eyes to look at Steve, that gorgeous slate-blue taking his breath away, peering out from under dark lashes. “Love me?”

Steve smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

Bucky grinned and pulled Steve closer, placing the blond’s hands on his belly. “Happy birthday to me.”

 

\--

Bucky groaned, falling back, his head falling into the soft pillows Steve had set up. His hands were cradling the sides of his painful belly, and Steve’s hand held a fork with chocolate birthday cake on it, hovering in front of Bucky’s mouth. “C’mon baby, just a few more bites, you can do it.”

“Fuck, Stevie, I can’t. I’m too full.”

“You’re doing so good, I know you can. You’ve still god a bit more room.” Steve patted Bucky’s taut gut, making him groan. After their confession of love, he’d shown off his own cooking skills (not half as good as Bucky’s, of course, but not too shabby either) making a special family home casserole his mom used to make (and not bursting into tears. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for that), and slyly ordering a birthday cake on the phone.

“Ugh, champ, if you want me to play that game with you guys tomorrow, I can’t be in a food hangover.”

Steve was nearly begging, but he wouldn’t do that, just like he knew that Bucky wouldn’t really take another bite out of the fork if he was serious. Bucky curled his pretty plump lips around the fork, cleaning the chocolate off of it. “Game doesn’t start until three p.m… you’ll be fine…” Steve gasped. Bucky’s pupils were dilated so much that his blue was in the minority, and Steve could just guess that his must’ve been just as large.

Bucky chuckled a little, and his belly bounced along, the whole fullness of it shaking softly. “You’re gonna kill me,” he said, but he nodded at the plate anyway, and Steve eagerly forked up another mouthful of the decadent cake, just chocolatey enough without being over the top. Bucky closed his eyes, opening when Steve tapped the fork against his lips, and three bites later, he opened his eyes when Steve didn’t put another bite in his mouth.

“Shit, Buck…” Steve breathed, trying not to come just at the sight of Bucky there on his bed, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with lust, lips parted and panting just hard enough to be audible, chin doubled sweetly as he laid back, and belly full and tight, pinning him to the bed. Steve leant forward and kissed him, careful not to press down on him. Bucky’s moaning became too much for him, and he slid back down to pay more attention to lower areas. He mouthed at the soft underside of Bucky’s gut, where stretch marks lay like lightning frozen across the night sky. He pressed his nose into it, inhaling Bucky’s scent, and nibbled at what excess flesh could be found gathered round his tight stomach.

“Stevie…” Bucky groaned, and Steve slipped down the brunet’s swim trunks, freeing his painful cock. He licked a stripe up the side, then tongued the slit as he massaged his balls, precome leaking out. With his mouth busy on Bucky’s member, he got himself off and came first. Through his orgasm he deep throated Bucky, taking it in to the hilt. Bucky came a few moments after, and warned Steve, trying to pull him up with his fingers entwined in his short hair, but Steve wanted to taste him. He stayed down, feeling the salty taste flood his cheeks. He came back up and kissed Bucky again, letting him taste himself in the other’s mouth.

Sated in all the conceivable ways, Bucky sighed contentedly and began to fall asleep. It was earlier than Steve was used to going to bed, but he was tired, and he might as well get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow.

The game…

The thought was almost far away in his mind, but a smile played across his lips as he fell asleep. He knew they would win.

 

\--

It was the sunrise that woke him, weak light gently warming his face. The last strands of some dream dropped away and he came to himself, not opening his eyes yet. Something soft tickled his forehead, and he opened his eyes to see Bucky blow a strand of brown hair off Steve.

“Sorry,” he whispered, smiling.

“No problem,” Steve responded in a hush, giving him a good morning kiss. “Why are we whispering?”

Bucky chuckled. “Don’t know. Seemed right.”

Steve grunted his agreement, sitting up and stretching. “How long’ve you been up?”

“Only a few seconds before you.”

Steve got out of the bed, grabbing a fresh pair of clothes, having not changed out of his board shorts practically at all yesterday. He yelped a little when Bucky goosed him, leaning back into the man behind him and allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of their warm, naked bodies being pressed together in the cool morning air. “Did you enjoy your birthday?” he whispered.

“Best damn birthday ever,” Bucky replied, sucking a hickey into Steve’s neck.

“Want breakfast?” Steve asked when Bucky finished, walking to the little desk in the corner where the telephone and hotel menu lay.

“I could eat,” Bucky smirked as he laid a hand on his gut, Steve’s eyes gravitationally drawn toward the orb.

“What do you want?”

“Hmm… get us the continental, but I want extra pancakes. And French toast. And an omelette, what the hell.”

Steve grinned and made the order, kissing Bucky noisily after hanging up. “What was that… about not… being in a food hangover?” he asked against Bucky’s soft lips.

He could feel Bucky smile against him. “Guess I’ll just have to work it off after breakfast.”

A few moments later the food arrived and Bucky finished all of his breakfast, plus half of Steve’s. He was almost painfully full once again, but he wouldn’t let that get in the way when Steve leant across the table and whispered “You want to top?” at a frightening husky level into his ear.

He stood up and followed Steve over to the bed, where the blond laid down over the edge of the mattress, but Bucky shook his head, pulling on his shoulder. “No, I want to see you.”

Steve grinned, raising an eyebrow and looking pointedly at Bucky’s swollen belly. “Sure we’ll fit?”

Bucky chuckled and shove him back down, standing in between Steve’s legs. He slipped Steve’s sweatpants and boxers down as the blond tossed him a bottle of lube, wetting his hands and slipping one finger into Steve’s tight little ring of muscle.

“C’mon, Bucky, get it on with,” he quipped, and Bucky complied, putting in two more fingers at the same time. Steve cried out as Bucky scissored his fingers open inside of him, hot tears escaping out the corners of his eyes. Bucky pulled his fingers out and lined his tip up, taking his fucking time, until Steve wrapped his legs around Bucky’s soft waist, pulling himself into Bucky and pushing his cock in all the way.

“F-fuck Stevie, didn’t want… di—“ Bucky stuttered out, setting a smooth rhythm.

“’S fine Buck, love the way you feel, love you in me, want to feel you pound me Bucky, want—ah! Want to be sore all day… want… wa…”

Bucky leant forward as he thrusted, and his heavy belly settled on top of Steve, trapping the blond’s dick in between their stomachs, and it was the most wonderful distress.

 

\--

A nervous sort of excitement filled the locker room, everyone jittery and aching to go. Clint and Nat were doing partner warm-ups, more specifically, a weird kind of stretching activity where they stood facing each other and put their left legs on the other person’s right shoulder, then switched legs. Sam was meditating, and Scott was pacing back and forth next to one of the benches. Steve was going over technical rules with Bucky again, and that’s when Tony Stark walked in.

“Hey, Rogers. Good luck out there today,” he said, giving a million-dollar smile and extending his perfectly manicured hand.

“Thanks, and may the best man win!” Steve responded with gusto, clasping the billionaire’s hand in his.

“Oh, he will,” responded Stark with just a hint of sarcasm, and the kid behind him snickered.

“Uh… right…” Steve said, smile falling from his face, dropping his hand.

“Hey, just because you’re a billionaire and you own five volleyball teams doesn’t mean you can pay off the judges with your lack of skill!” snapped Clint.

Stark narrowed his eyes. “Just don’t be a sore loser, Barton. Let’s get out of here, Peter.” The kid—Peter—gave Steve a dirty look and the two left the room.

“What the fuck…” Steve muttered under his breath.

“Hey, calm down, it’s okay,” Bucky whispered into his ear, massaging his shoulders. “He’s just trying to get under your skin. Asshole.”

Steve took a couple of deep breaths, but still couldn’t shake the anger that boiled inside of him. It dissipated a little when he glanced over at Bucky trying to fit into the team uniform—they hadn’t had time to make an extra, so he had to borrow Sam’s old outfit, which was decidedly a few sizes too tight.

Natasha stood on one of the benches. “Okay, Stark wants to make it personal? Whatever. He can get his emotions all wrapped up in this game. We are going to be professional. That’s what matters. We are more mature and one of us has more sportsmanship than his entire team. I am super proud of you guys.”

Scott smirked. “Isn’t it Cap’s job to give the pep talks?”

Steve blushed. “Never my strong point.”

Natasha’s little speech did its job though, and Steve felt a certain peace about the evening. When he looked over at Bucky’s beautiful face and he saw him smile back with ease, he knew that the brunet did too.

A loud buzz filled the suddenly quiet air, and everyone jumped as the announcer called their name—“The Americas, undefeated in their season, play the game that could give them a ticket to championships!”—and filed out of the locker room onto their side of the court, Steve first, then Natasha, then Bucky, then Clint, then Sam, and lastly, Scott. Steve walked up to the net, where Tony stood. He gave him a terse handshake, then turned and stood in his position. Scott threw him the ball, and he set it over the net, volleying for first serve. Tony missed first. Nat whooped and Steve gave Clint the ball to serve, and the game began. Clint let it free with a strong force against his forearm, and it flew over the net. The British guy bumped it to the African one who set it over the net to Sam, who missed. The Iron Men cheered and got the first point, and they rotated.

“It’s cool guys, we got this,” called Natasha from behind Steve, and he could see Bucky crack his neck to the right of him.

The kid served the ball barely over the net, and Bucky set it back over on their side. Tony bumped it back over to Clint, who set it to Steve, who sent it over the net to the African American, who missed. Steve cheered and they rotated.

An hour later, they were tired but still alert, and Tony was jittery because they were 23 to 23. For the last three minutes, neither team had faulted, and Steve, in left back, could tell that Bucky and Clint were getting tired up front.

Another minute passed, and the judges called a five minute break. Natasha beckoned everyone closer and they huddled in a circle, panting and sweaty. Scott handed everyone water bottles. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ve got an idea. Clint, the next time it comes to you, you bump it to Steve, can you do that? Steve, bump it across the net. They won’t be expecting that, and we’ll finally get to rotate so Steve and Bucky can be up front. Bucky, Tony doesn’t like you, so he’ll try to be clever and spike it. When he goes to spike, he jumps with his right foot. When he does that, you jump up and block it, then send it straight back down. Then we’ll have our two points.” Everyone nodded.

“Done gossiping, girls?” Tony called from across the net. “Because, you know, just because everyone’s fucking each other doesn’t mean you’ll win.”

“You’re wrong!” Scott spat, angrily. Tony raised his eyebrows and waited for a response. “Sam and I are _not_ fucking.”

Tony scowled, and Clint laughed. The judges called break over, and everyone got back in position.

“Iron Men serve!”

The British guy served the ball over to Clint, who bumped it to Steve, as instructed. Steve bumped it over to the African guy, who surprisingly, set it with ease back to Natasha, who missed. The Iron Men cheered and Nat tossed the ball back over.

“24 to 23, Iron Men serve!”

“Sorry, guys,” Nat called.

“You’re fine, baby,” said Clint, giving her a quick kiss.

Steve waited patiently, but the Iron Men were having a pow wow of their own. “Hey, guys! Get your thumbs out each other’s asses and serve the ball,” called Scott.

The African American guy scowled and served, but it barely came over the net, falling into Clint’s set. Tony stepped forward to get it with his left foot, and then his right was coming down and time went into slow motion.

Steve blinked, praying that Bucky would block, and Tony surged upward, the ball flying to make contact with the hand that was reaching up, just as Bucky jumped up, reaching out with his left, being closer. Steve nearly panicked, but didn’t have time, because Bucky was jumping too soon to block! What was he doing? He’d hit it before Tony did!

Tony’s hand made contact a split second before Bucky’s did. There was a second when both of their hands were on the ball, pinning it in mid-air as they were themselves suspended, and Steve could see Tony blink. Then the billionaire shoved his hand on the ball forward and Bucky’s left arm twisted a way that it shouldn’t have bent, and he cried out in pain.

Time restored to normal, and Bucky fell backward, holding his arm, crumpled onto the ground, hitting his head hard as he fell. Steve rushed forward and reached him first, not knowing what to do. He looked up at Tony’s triumphant expression turned horrified, only half aware of the ball bouncing away behind them.

Every sound and colour drained from Steve’s vision. All he could see was Bucky lying limp on the floor, pretty face unmoving. Two nurses ran from somewhere and tried to get Steve away from Bucky, but he refused, shouting something at them that his mouth couldn’t connect to his brain. They wheeled over a stretcher and tried to pick Bucky up, but again, Steve screamed at them, and Natasha laid a hand on one of the nurse’s arms. Steve scooped Bucky up and set him on the stretcher, but still wouldn’t let him go, holding Bucky’s right hand, looking into his concussed face. At least… he hoped it was just a concussion.

Steve got in the back of the ambulance with Bucky, unable to hear the scream of the siren as they raced to the hospital, the only sound in his head the pitiful yelp Bucky had made before he fell.

He couldn’t bear it, seeing Bucky small and lifeless and laid out on the gurney like…

Like his mom had been, on the last hour before Steve had lost her forever.

Fucking tuberculosis.

Fucking Tony Stark.

 

\--

They wouldn’t let him in, even though he shouted at the nurses and demanded that Bucky wouldn’t go into a room without him. He’d woken up some point between the ambulance ride and wheeling him into the hospital, but he hadn’t been able to speak, only muttered something that could have been “Steve” while squeezing his hand.

Steve sat in the waiting room, panicky and white-faced. Two hours into the night, Natasha called him to tell him that the Iron Men were disqualified on a “dishonourable conduct” fault, and the Americans had won.  They were going on to championships.

Steve didn’t care. He felt numb. So fucking numb and helpless. He couldn’t even hold his own boyfriend’s hand while intravenous dripped into his vein.

Four hours in, a nurse stepped out into the waiting room and said that he could visit with Mr. Barnes now.

 

\--

Three days later, Steve sat on the beach with Bucky, the cool pacific water kissing their toes. Steve held Bucky’s right hand; his left arm was bandaged in a cast round his neck, signed by every one of the Americans. Good thing it was Tony Stark that had broken his arm; the lawsuit was enough to get Bucky the best medical in the country. Bucky sipped some deep ocean-coloured drink, slurping the last of it with his tongue.

“Ohhhh, _brainfreeze**_ ,” he groaned, which made Steve laugh, rubbing his thumb over the brunet’s palm.

Steve looked down at their joined hands. “You know… Buck… I’ve been thinking. You scared me there, in the hospital.”

Bucky gave him a lopsided smirk. “Make it up to you later, babydoll?”

Steve chuckled. They still had to be careful with their more… carnal activities, because of Bucky’s arm and head injury. “Of course. But what I meant is, they wouldn’t let me in with you, because we’re not related. And that fucking sucks.”

Bucky nodded, and waited for Steve to continue, but Steve’s voice seemed to be stuck in his chest. “What’re you trying to say, Rogers?”

“Would you like to be related, Buck? I… fuck. That didn’t come out right. I want. Um. Bucky, would you? Ah… would you…” he cleared his throat, his embarrassed blush redder than the sunset. “Will you marry me?”

Bucky grinned from ear to ear. “Absolutely,” he said, leaning over and giving Steve a kiss.

And in that moment, Steve felt the most grounded he ever had in his life.

Anchored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {**Hehe… get it… brainfreeze… cryogenics… Bucky-sicle…. Heheheheh…} 
> 
> Sorry for any factual inconsistencies/inaccuracies. (I’ve only ever played volleyball in gym.) I wrote this story over the course of a couple weeks and lost my train of thought a few times. I am not sorry, however, for all the sap. I live in Saccharine McSaptown and the population is Steve and Bucky. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

**Author's Note:**

> Your kudos and comments are like sunshine in the cold winter of school!  
> Come find me on tumblr: star-thief


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